


Mini-ficlets

by romans



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Doctor Who, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:24:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three mini-ficlets from prompts on LJ.  Doctor Who, Game of Thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mini-ficlets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sternflammenden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/gifts).



for kilodalton: _Doctor Who: chair, sleep, glue, wooden, camera_  
Old photographs of himself, standing wooden-faced in Dealy plaza, sitting in a cafe in Cardiff, drinking on an alien planet, have always rubbed him the wrong way, unsettled him and made him unhappy in a place that he can't quite reach. Seeing those faces is not like seeing old friends, or reliving old memories; he has, first and foremost, always been _himself_ and in his less lucid moments he feels like he's a demon, devouring innocent bodies and moving on to the next poor idiot when it's time to die. All those other men, curly-haired and wrinkled, bright-eyed and sleepy, are thieves, charlatans; he is the glue holding them together, stretched thinner every regeneration. He knows, intellectually, that they're him. It's still a shock to see his other faces, and he can't look at them without thinking, secretly, that they've stolen his identity, lived in the moments that are by rights his and his alone.

The Doctor doesn't like cameras. They don't steal his soul, but somehow they still manage to steal his life.

 

for embossedsilver: _lips, curl, ribbons, teeth, grasp_  
Her husband grasps her nipple between two hard fingers and twists it cruelly, and Jeyne breaks the rules. She screams. His lip curls in disdain, or perhaps with elation, and he grins at her as if he means to strip her skin into ribbons with his bare teeth. (He gives it a good try, before she escapes with Reek.)

She doesn't know it, but Jeyne Poole is finally a fit bride for the Lord of Blackhaven.

 

for sternflammenden: _it's beyond my control_  
Dany sits in the wreckage of Kings Landing, surrounded by blackened stones and the stench of burning bodies, and cries for the first time since she lost her _Khal_. Ash sticks in her throat and her hair is gone from burning silvery white to an old woman's grey, coated in the remains of the dead. The mad Queen, dressed in her finest silks and with her stubbled head bared proudly to the night sky, had set fire to the city and then thrown herself from the ramparts of The Red Keep.

The fire had been too much; Viserion had taken off into the sky, and the other two dragons had followed his lead. In less than a day, they had destroyed the entire city. Blood and Fire were all she had to offer. She couldn't rule over a city of ashes. She was lost. _It's beyond my control_ , she thinks, miserable, and bows her head.


End file.
